


As I Lay Dying

by Pennin_Ink



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And some of the right ones, Canon divergence - Motel California onward, Consenting Adults, Derek has given up, F/M, Sex and Introspection, Sex for all the wrong reasons, Suicidal Thoughts, Trigger warning: suicidal ideation, Whether or not Jennifer is the Darach is up to you, canon compliant up to 4x07, nongraphic/semigraphic sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 12:27:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pennin_Ink/pseuds/Pennin_Ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written before Motel California and based on promos featuring Jennifer and Derek in bed together. This fic explores some of my headcanons for what Derek was thinking when he got together with Jennifer, and explores some of the motivations I believe he was working under at around that time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As I Lay Dying

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before Motel California, so there's a lot of it that doesn't fit with the show. In this fic, they're at Jennifer's apartment, not Derek's loft, and I didn't know or suspect Jennifer was the Darach when I wrote this, so that's not her motivation for being with Derek. That's not stopping you from reading it that way, though, and it does put the whole fic in a completely different light, so that's fun.
> 
> I warned in the tags, but I'm putting it here as well. This fic focuses on an extremly suicidal Derek. If it would do you more harm than good to read this, please give it a miss.

He needs this, Derek tells himself. He needs it and she can give it. She wants to give it. It’s not taking when it’s on offer, is it? He feels her hands on him and they’re cool, soft. They leech the fire away, and while she’s touching him he’s not burning.

 

She’s beautiful. She’s smart. She’s strong. But when he kisses her it’s different. She doesn’t try to consume him, like Kate did. She...cradles him. Gentles him. There’s no ferocity in Jennifer, only desire, passion that doesn’t burn so much as it warms. He lets himself succumb to her, because he needs to succumb. He needs to give in, give up. If he falls, she’ll catch him, keep his head above the water, breathe for him. He can just let go.

 

So he does. He lets go. He doesn’t know how, or if she even knows what to give him, but whatever she’s doing it’s working. Her arms wrap around him and hold him together when he’s about to fall apart. Her lips push at his and remind him to exhale. He can’t tell if he wants, but god he _needs_.

 

So it’s okay. She wants him, wants this. He knows it. She wants his damage and his pain and his silent sadness. He gets how this works. It’s a fair exchange, after all. He saved her life. And maybe she can’t save his, but she can give him this. She can take him.

 

He knows where he should be, now. He should be at the loft. Peter and Cora will be wondering where he went. They should know he’s alive. He should be with his pack. But he’s so tired. He’s tired of being a wolf, of living under the sway of his blood. And he can’t face Cora now. He couldn’t face her before. But now...it’s better if he’s dead.

 

It’s almost time, anyway. He didn’t miss Scott’s eyes at the fight. He’s ready. It’s happened sooner than Derek expected, but that’s okay. Perfect, actually. Once Scott steps up, once Derek gets Cora safely in Scott’s pack and away from Peter, once Beacon Hills is Scott’s territory. It won’t be long now.

 

He almost feels like he should tell Jennifer, but right now she’s holding him from behind and his fingers are buried in her hair and her lips feel so soft...this isn’t the time for talking. You don’t say goodbye at a time like this.

 

He wonders if there’ll be time to leave a note. There’s still so much inheritance stuff left, stuff Cora’s entitled to. He can’t trust Peter with that kind of thing, but Laura always handled it before and he doesn’t really have a clue.

 

He wonders who’ll do it. Deucalion? The twins? He can see it being Kali. She’s got that kind of bloodlust, and she’s strong. She’s more or less marked him for it, anyway, and she outclasses him. There would be no shame if she did it. No one would question whether he’d fought hard enough if she did it.

 

He will fight, of course. He has to. He can’t just stand there and wait for it. He’ll stand and he’ll fight and he’ll be overpowered. His strength, his stamina, his healing will all give out and she’ll deliver the final blow and it will all, finally, end. And Scott will take his place and whatever happens after that happens. He won’t be in much of a postion to care. Whatever Peter did to hang around after Derek slit his throat, Derek’s not interested in repeating it.

 

He’s been ready for this for a very long time.

 

Jennifer lowers him onto her bed, and it occurs to him that she might actually miss him. Might mourn him. And it strikes him as unbelievably weird. She barely knows him; doesn’t even know his last name. But it’s okay. He’ll give her good memories. It’s probably selfish, but it’d be nice for someone to miss him.

 

She has in-body condoms. He’s never used those before, and she can tell. He wonders how young he looks to her, how innocent she thinks he is. Her smile is bright and wonderful, so he lets her believe. He feels himself sinking into her and it feels more like she’s pulling him in, enveloping him, enfolding him. He feels like he can be safe in her, for now.

 

Perched above him, she starts to move, and he gives up on thinking for a while. Because it’s never been like this. He’s felt helpless to his own pleasure before, Kate was good at that, but he never felt like he was being guided through it. He can almost believe she knows his body better than he does.

 

He hears the sounds they make, her gasping and grunting above him, the slap of his skin against the condom’s rim, his own helpless whimpers. It’s good. It’s so good. It’s something to live for, if only he had that choice.

 

“I’m sorry.” He grits out, just as he comes. She shushes him, caresses him, tells him it’s okay, that she’s got him.

 

He doesn’t correct her. He’s a bastard that way.

 

He looks at her. In another life, in another world, he can see himself loving her, being loved by her. He can imagine her in the pack, maybe even taking the Bite. He can imagine his family teasing him about dating an older woman, in a world where having a type didn’t get them burned alive.

 

He wishes she could be enough to save him. Maybe even redeem him. He wishes people could be that for other people. But life doesn’t work like that, and he’s learned not to expect miracles.

 

The first time, with Kate, she’d sat above him just like this, looked down at him after his first orgasm with someone else and said, “Feels like I just killed ya, don’t it?”

 

It feels wrong not to tell Jennifer she’s just had sex with a dead man, but most things he does feel wrong. He’s used to it.

 

“Hey.” She says softly, once she’s rolled off of him to lie by his side. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

 

He hasn’t been able to heal since she brought him here. She knows enough to buy his need for secrecy, but she doesn’t need to get dragged into this any more than she already is, so he’s keeping his healing at bay. She was careful, but it wasn’t painless. He just doesn’t care.

 

“I’m fine.” He says.

 

“Mm.” Her breath is sweet as is fans over his face. “You know, I can’t remember the last time somebody said that to me without lying. Why do we keep pretending it’s not completely obvious?”

 

He doesn’t answer. He watches her go about the post-sex cleanup routine with almost clinical precision. It’s almost fascinating.

 

She sighs and perches one hip on the mattress beside him. “Was this a mistake?” She asks, suddenly uncertain, like her iron control during sex evaporates when confronted with ordinary human interaction. “I mean, look at you. You’re still bloody for crying out loud.”

 

“I’ll live.” For now.

 

She lowers her head. “Don’t get me wrong, it was amazing.” She smiles. “But I can’t help but feel like I just took advantage of you.”

 

Derek shakes his head. He doesn’t have the words to tell her how wrong she’s got it.

 

“What are we doing, Derek?” She asks. “I’m not...I’m a  _high school teacher_ , I don’t do stuff like this.”

 

He should reach out to her. Comfort her. He should, but he doesn’t.

 

She lets out a little self-depricating laugh. “God, I could’ve sworn real life doesn’t work like this. Mysterious, heroic men don’t just show up covered in blood and...flash sad eyes at you and...what is this, Derek? Who are you?”

 

He looks at her, then, and he’s just so tired. He doesn’t have it in him to play the part anymore.

 

“Scared.” He tells her, and it’s the most honest thing he’s said since his name.

 

She nods like she understands. She curls up beside him, her cotton nightgown soft against his skin. She smells like soap and soft and sex and him. He should shower, but he doesn’t have the energy. She seems to get that, because after a moment’s rest, she gets up again and comes back with a washcloth. He’s never had a spongebath before, but it’s nice. She plays her role with a sad smile, and he plays his with a blank face, but neither of them can keep it up, and he finds himeself grasping at her wrist with desperation, fixing his eyes on hers as whatever gentle mask she was wearing cracks and with every stroke of the cloth it’s like she gets closer to the truth, until the look in her eyes says goodbye as loudly and as clearly as he didn’t.

 

“I’m sorry.” He says again, and this time she just nods, accepts it.

  
“So am I.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really fond of this piece, not least because it's got some of my favorite language and structure styles in it, but mostly because it goes a long way toward explaining Derek's erratic and confusing behavior in S3.
> 
> But please note: explaining and excusing are two different things. Just because I can understand why Derek might have behaved the way he did does not mean I condone it. That being said, Derek is a very heavily traumatized individual, and a lot of his destructive actions can be symptomatic of his inability to process or cope with that trauma. 
> 
> I have a lot of headcanons for Derek's endgame at this point, some of them much darker than this, but they all end in the werewolf equivalent of suicide-by-cop. The way I see it, Derek is somebody who desperately wants to die, but believes so thoroughly that killing himself would be an insult to his family's memory that he physically can't bring himself to cause it. The duty to survive is so deeply ingrained that he's become obsessed with finding a way to do it indirectly, throwing himself into increasingly dangerous situations in the hopes that this time he won't be able to fight his way out, and will therefore have earned the right to die. 
> 
> Basically at the point of this fic, Derek sees himself as a walking corpse. His death is inevitable, so when he sees the chance to quiet the noise and ease the pain with Jennifer, he takes it, because there are no consequences left when you're dead.
> 
> Basically Derek has a lot of healing to do before he can properly atone for what he's done, but I do believe he has the capacity to do both.


End file.
